The Gem (D'Arth Book 4) Page 3

  "Hey," he heard her say in a familiar way to whoever it was on the other end. "That's great. Fantastic." Was everything fantastic to her, he wondered. Was the world just a rosy place?

  "You're boyfriend?" he asked when she returned after finishing her call.

  "Nope, just a friend."

  "So no boyfriend?" He couldn't even imagine what kind of guy Shay McPherson would go for. Not that he really cared; he was just bored.

  "Not really. I did, but it's over." She shrugged like it meant nothing. Peter knew that reaction.

  "Cheated on you, did he?"

  Shay looked kind of shocked, but refused to admit it. Such pride. Some guy had hurt her, he deduced. "How did you know?"

  "Don't they all?"

  She looked concerned, spying at him like she was trying to figure him out. "And what about you? I take it there's no girlfriend hanging around? There's no sign of one. Or is it a boyfriend?"

  "Neither. I don't really do friends in either capacity."

  "No friends, huh?"

  "Whores and conquests."

  "Wow," she said. "That … Really? Are those the only two categories available? What am I?"

  "The hired help."

  He expected her to get offended, but she only nodded. "I see. I was wondering why your friends didn't come running, but I'm getting more of a picture now."

  "What picture is that exactly?"

  "You're more the loner type, huh?" That made him sound like some loser that played computer games in his mother's basement.

  "If you mean independent and self-reliant, then yes."

  "Well, Mr. Self-reliant, since you were such a good boy and ate your dinner, you can have an ice-cream for dessert."

  "Piss off."

  "As you wish," she said and went to the kitchen and grabbed a wrapped ice-cream from the freezer and unwrapped it, holding it by its little wooden stick. It was covered in chocolate and the hard layer cracked as she bit into it. "So good," she said, licking a piece of chocolate off her lip.

  And there was a hard-on. He could feel himself tightening under the sheet and the awful pants she'd forced on him. Peter smiled. All was well in the world—the plumbing was back online. "I think I will have one of those after all."

  Chapter 5

  * * *

  Finding the right bell, Shay pressed the intercom button. It took a while and she wasn't sure she had the right place. Jess had sent her a text with the address of the flat she’d found, which apparently was in Elephant and Castle. In the evening though, their new neighbourhood looked quite rough and Shay begged for Jess to answer.

  "Hello?" the intercom sounded, but the poor sound quality made it hard to make out her voice.

  "Jess?"

  "Shay. I'll buzz you in. We have a buzzer." An angry sounding buzzer unlocked the door, giving Shay access and she walked up three flights of stairs. The door on one side of the landing was open slightly and Shay assumed that was her new flat.

  It was bright inside—white walls and lino floors made to look like wooden floorboards. At least it looked tidy.

  "What do you think?" Jess said, walking out from one of the rooms. "This is my room and that's yours." She pointed to the door across the hall from hers.

  "It looks pretty good," Shay had to admit. The rent wasn't cheap, but it was doable.

  "Guess what?"

  "What?"

  "I've got an interview tomorrow," Jess said, almost singing.

  "That's fantastic. Where?"

  "This pharmacy in Notting Hill."

  "Notting Hill? Very nice."

  "And I would have quaint Notting Hill to wander around at lunch time. Could be worse. How's work?"

  Shay shrugged. "A lot of sitting around and making cups of coffee. I'm more a private chef really."

  "What's he like, Peter Dunham?" Jess walked into their austere and tiny living room that had nothing but a coffee table and a sofa. The flat was furnished, but it looked impersonal and sparse. They would have to put some effort into make it look cosy.

  "He's …" Shay started, but didn't really know how to finish.

  "Is he old?"

  "Mid-thirties."

  "Not ancient. Cute? Single?"

  Again, Shay didn't really know what to say. "Definitely single, I think. Not really the respect women kind of guy."

  "Ugh." Jess got up again, having lost interest in Peter Dunham, and maybe she was right to. "This is the kitchen," she said, flourishing like a game show host. Which really didn't need to be stated, it was a corner of the living room, sided by a tiny table and two chairs. Again everything looked new; it was just really small. "Let's go out tonight."

  "You know I can't. I have to go if he needs me."

  "You can't be on call twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. There are, like, laws against that."

  "I know, but he doesn't have anyone else." Jess looked unimpressed and Shay laughed; she really wasn't doing a good job selling Peter Dunham, was she? "Maybe just one drink. Then I have to go home. Oh, we have a microwave."

  "I got some lasagnes from Marks and Spencers."

  "Their ready food does seem to be a little better than the others."

  "Now that we have a kitchen, we can actually cook. I'll get some stuff tomorrow after my interview. Who knows; after tomorrow I might be gainfully employed, and then we could actually eat properly; maybe go out for dinner, too. Let's get a drink," Jess said, lifting her eyebrow in challenge. "There's a pub about a block down."

  "Let's check it out," Shay relented.

  Shay changed quickly into another pair of jeans and a thin leather jacket, put on a bit of lippy and joined Jess in the living room. "Let's check out the talent in this here neighbourhood," Jess said.

  Arm in arm, they walked down the street and it seemed a whole lot less scary when there was two of them. The pub was bright and warm, and it was packed. They ordered a drink and grabbed a small table. "He's cute," Jess said, indicating towards a guy at another table, trying not to be obvious. Shay checked him out, but he wasn't her type. Jess went for the sporty guys with abs and attitude. Artists and musicians tended to draw Shay's attention more, and admittedly, Te Awamutu wasn't really the hang out for that kind of guy.

  Shay's phone rang and she looked at the screen, which flashed Peter Dunham.

  "Is that him?"

  "Yep," said and picked up the phone. "Peter?"

  "I need you to come over."

  He'd said it really flatly, like he was embarrassed about needing help. Shay knew he wasn't wild about having to rely on her so there must be something wrong if he was calling her. "I'll be right there."

  "You're not going, are you? You haven't even taken a sip of your drink."

  "I have to," Shay stated, getting up. "He might have fallen or something. He isn't supposed to move when I'm not there, but I wouldn't put him past him."

  "Fine," Jess said with exasperation. Shay felt terrible about leaving Jess completely on her own, but what could she do? This was her job and if Peter needed something, she had to go.

  Grabbing her bag, she ran out of the pub. Luckily, Southwark wasn't far away so she hailed a cab, running into the building when she arrived. She was completely puffed when she burst through the door. "I'm here."

  "I can't find the remote," he said, sitting in his usual position on the bed.

  "The remote?" she stated. "I just practically ran here." A little lie, but she’d forked out money for a cab, which was effectively on the same level. "I just ditched my friend in an unfamiliar suburb because you can't find the remote?"

  "Well, I can't lie here all night watching the same channel."

  "Argh," Shay said, not believing what she was hearing. She'd imagined some crisis and he'd called her because he wanted to change the channel.

  "Have you got any more of those ice-creams?"

  Shay stood there shaking her head, trying to calm down. It's just a job, she kept telling herself, with someone who obviously didn’t understand boundaries. It wasn
't her job to teach him manners. Her job was to be his nurse, practically at his beck and call.

  "I think it fell down the back of the bed. I can't reach it."

  Taking her jacket off, she walked over to the bed and crouched down by the head of the bed where it faced the floor to ceiling glass windows. Reaching in, she searched the space which was completely black now that it was dark outside.

  "Have you got lipstick on?" he asked. "Is this you dressed up?"

  Shay felt his eyes taking her measure. "I was out."

  "Don’t you wear anything but jeans?"

  "What's wrong with jeans?"

  "If it's all you wear, it's kind of boring."

  "You have jeans."

  "I don't live in them."

  "Why are we having this conversation?" Shay asked, finally touching the blasted remote, which she could touch, but it was that little bit too far to actually grab. She needed a stick of some kind and looked around, but there was nothing. "Where is your stuff?"

  "What stuff?"

  "You know, things that belong to you."

  "I'm not a big fan of clutter."

  "Does that include people?" she asked. "Sorry, forget I said anything. None of my business." She really had no right to comment on his socially sparse life. "I need something to reach the remote with." Kitchen, she thought and walked over to the cupboard to search for something. Grabbing the only spatula he had, she also opened the freezer and retrieved a wrapped ice-cream, which she chucked at him as she returned to the bed and reached behind to retrieve the remote. "Here," she said and gave it to him.

  "Thanks," he said and changed the channel. "Those boots are tacky."

  "Just how I like it," she said through clenched teeth. Standing, she walked to the door.

  "Where are you going?"

  "I have to go rescue my stranded friend. Is there anything else you urgently need before I go? Because I would rather deal with this now than having to run back here for some storm in a tea cup. Glass of water? Another blanket?"

  "Temper, temper," Peter said and Shay started to wonder if he was trying to wind her up. "You could get me one of these Champagne bottles in the fridge."

  "You know you're not allowed to drink."

  "I'm not a child."

  "You're heading into surgery in a couple of days."

  "A drink would relax me."

  "You're not going to win this argument with me. It would be unprofessional of me to give you alcohol."

  "Bore."

  "Medical professional," she said, pointing to herself. "You are here to heal and downing a bottle of sparkly isn't going to help."

  "Those aren't some bottles of sparkly. Those where hand selected from the best wineries in Montage de Reims. And as a medical professional, how is anyone supposed to take you seriously in those boots?"

  "Alright, I'm leaving." There was no reason for her to stand around listening to this.

  "I'm sorry," Peter said. "Where are my manners? As a strong independent woman, you should be able to wear anything you want, even those catastrophes." That was probably the least heartfelt apology she'd ever heard. It was actually an insult wrapped in an apology. And really, where was he getting off criticizing her wardrobe. Not everyone could afford to throw money at clothes in some attempt to be stylish. Style wasn't everything, but it obviously was to him.

  "You should see what I wear when I eat ice-cream on the sofa. You would be shocked."

  "I don't want to imagine."

  "I'm going now," she said, putting her arms up in resignation, having neither the heart nor inclination to justify her fashion sense to him.

  Chapter 6

  * * *

  Peter dropped his head back on the pillow, staring up at the ceiling. His apartment was deathly quiet again as he'd muted the TV. Turning his head, he could see London moving outside his window. Cars with their lights on driving along the other side of the Thames, all these people off somewhere. There was nowhere he could go. Primarily, he would exhaust himself just getting out of bed, but he also didn't wanted to be seen in a wheelchair. He had some standards, and showing up crippled in a wheelchair, looking like death warmed up just didn't sound like a good night out.

  His thoughts turned to his nurse and how annoyed she'd looked when she'd stormed in here. She'd actually looked surprisingly doable in those cheap boots and tight jeans. He didn't normally go for that look, but she was the only female he had access to of late, and she was cool as a cucumber. Interestingly, she didn't rise to his taunts. He just hadn't found what it was that got to her yet. It was the only game going really.

  Shifting as he lay in bed, he cringed at how bored he was. There was one fault with his otherwise stellar life: there was no one there now. Others would have a girlfriend hovering around, fussing. Actually, he had no idea what girlfriends do—he'd never wanted one, but being injured and bed-bound did not go with his lifestyle. He shuddered to think what his life would devolve to if he was permanently injured—he'd be better off dead.

  He wanted sex, but he wasn't going to. He could call someone; he had an emergency phone in his drawer, an old one that only did voice and texts. It wouldn't be a problem to get some gorgeous creature to come bounce on him, but he wouldn't. He wasn't stupid enough to mess with his recovery. That was his one and only mission at the moment and he wouldn't get waylaid by cravings or temptations. He hadn't gotten where he was by being led around by anyone when it came down to doing stuff that needed doing, including himself. It was the same reason he wouldn't be hitting any of the Champagnes in the fridge, even though he teased his nurse about it, just to see her disapproving looks.

  But the silence of his apartment was killing him and it did bother him that he couldn't stand being in his own company. Something was itchingly off, but he wasn't about to pander to it. Just because he was injured didn't mean he was going to fall to pieces. This was just an odd occurrence where his otherwise awesome life didn't match his requirements.

  Shay McPherson thought he was shallow. Her words and actions conveyed her opinion. Her, in her cheap clothes and backpacker lifestyle, judged him and found him lacking. He wasn't stupid enough to dismiss it all as jealousy. He knew jealousy when he saw it. He saw it when people walked past him, when they checked out his car and when he passed the queue at a nightclub because he was on an invite list.

  Shay was just too young and idealistic—more so than Alex had ever been. Alex had been tempted, but ultimately she'd chosen the safe path—the path with a nice boyfriend, cosy nights at home and lazy weekends. It had felt like betrayal.

  Alex would be fussing around her boyfriend if he was injured like this and if he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine her being there.

  He hadn't thought about her for a while, but when he'd woken up in hospital and he needed someone; she'd been the person that had come to mind. It had surprised him, but there was something that now drew him back there, to the encounter that obviously still had some kind of hold on him.

  Pulling out the emergency phone he kept in his drawer, he clicked through to the text screen, watching as the cursor flicked. He didn't know what to say.

  I've been hurt.

  He hit the send button and waited, feeling more nervous than he thought he would. It took a few moments before the phone's ringtone sounded through the apartment.

  "Alex," he said when he answered.

  "Peter? I didn't know who it was. It was just this unknown number popping up. Are you okay?"

  "I was in a car accident."

  "Oh my god." She sounded flustered and it did kind of move him that she reacted that way. "Are you okay? Where are you?"

  "I'm at home now."

  Alex was silent for a moment. "Are you okay?" she asked, more serious this time.

  "I can't walk." That sounded a bit melodramatic. "I'll be fine eventually, but for now I'm pretty beat up." He actually had no idea what time it was or even what day it was, so he couldn't even guess what she was doing at this point.

&nb
sp; "That's terrible. I can't believe this."

  Then it grew awkward and he didn't know what to say, or able to explain some credible reason why he'd called. "How are you?" he asked. He wanted to ask her at the award dinner, but they weren't talking.

  "I'm okay," she said. "I'm working at Ernst and Young these days."

  "Consulting, huh?"

  "They're slave drivers really, but the pay is good." He knew they were. She wouldn't get much time to spend with her boyfriend if she was working there. There was still ambition in her and he felt a pang of anger that she'd rejected what he'd offered.

  "I'm glad to hear you landed on your feet." He genuinely was, even though he had been instrumental in driving her out of the advertising industry. He'd been furious with her at the time, exercising the power he’d had, but he'd calmed a bit now. "Obviously I'm not working at all at the moment."

  "I'm so sorry to hear that happened to you. Are you sure you're going to be alright?"

  "I need to have more surgery, but I should be fine."

  He heard her wince slightly. "If you need anything, you let me know, okay?" She was winding the conversation down. He didn't want to finish, but he had no reason to extend it.

  "Actually, I could use a phone," he said. "Mine got smashed up and I only have an old one and I'm cut off."

  "Of course. I'll get one for you. I'll drop it by. I have to go. Get well, Peter. I can't believe this happened to you. I'm so sorry."

  "Thanks," he said and hung up, suddenly feeling completely exhausted. It also felt really strange talking to her, hearing her voice. He'd missed her. He hadn't realise it until now, but he'd missed her and he wasn't sure how he felt about that. She'd screamed at him that he'd end up alone and unwanted. For now, he was too tired to think about it.

  He woke to the sound of someone in his apartment, the slight rustling of someone in the kitchen. He stretched, but then stopped as pain screamed through his limbs. His injuries popped back into his mind and he was again disappointed with his situation. What he'd give to spring out of bed and drive down to the tennis club right now, duke it out with some competitive Chelsea boy. Instead, he was here, bed-ridden and dependant.